


you've got parliaments filled with parasites

by reversustenebris



Series: MCYT Songfics [4]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Drabble, i dont know how to tag this without ruining like half of it, just know that wilbur is a dirty crime boy like for real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26893462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reversustenebris/pseuds/reversustenebris
Summary: Building a nation from scratch is hard work.Wilbur would know, he’s done it twice now.Pogtopia is, unfortunately, significantly more difficult than the founding of L’Manberg. He refuses to call it Manberg, he thinks that name is fucking ridiculous. At least be original about it if you’re going to rename an entire fucking country, yeah?---Wilbur reflects on the past couple of weeks.
Series: MCYT Songfics [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1957051
Comments: 2
Kudos: 57





	you've got parliaments filled with parasites

**Author's Note:**

> song is Razzmatazz by I Don't Know How But They Found Me !!!
> 
> update as of the evening of October 8th, less than a day after i posted this: WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Building a nation from scratch is hard work.

Wilbur would know, he’s done it twice now. 

Pogtopia is, unfortunately, significantly more difficult than the founding of L’Manberg. He refuses to call it Manberg, he thinks that name is fucking ridiculous. At least be original about it if you’re going to rename an entire fucking country, yeah?

The current venture to create and maintain Pogtopia is a goddamn trip, if you ask him. It’s physically and mentally exhausting. He spends most days wrangling Tommy and Techno, trying to keep them from going rogue and painting the town with the blood of their enemies, or whatever Techno enjoys doing. He doesn’t know who he can trust, doesn’t even know if he can trust Tommy and Techno, let alone Niki, or Eret (that traitor), or Dream, who, if you recall, he just finished fighting a war with.

His son is gone too.

And Tubbo.

The walls he spent weeks grueling over, the land he tended to oh-so-carefully, the van he and Tommy built together what feels like years ago. All gone. Reduced to rubble and ashes that dirty the grass of what used to be his beautiful nation. He remembers how sore he was after building those walls, but at least he was happy. All of them were so happy.

Now here he is, his body aching like he’s aged thirty years in the past few weeks, and soul aching even more from the absolute, all-consuming feeling of loss. He doesn’t really know how to describe it better than loss. Like a part of him is gone, left behind on Election Day.

God. Fucking Election Day.

Wilbur is a firm proponent of democracy. He doesn’t ever want to be the kind of tyrant he saw Dream as. An election was only fair.

This election felt anything but fair, he felt nothing but regret for his stupidity when Schlatt stepped up to that podium, when that arrow scratched his cheek, when they were sent away to live in the wild, to live in fear. That’s not democracy. That’s a dictatorship.

He spent many nights wondering how in the world he would reverse the total destruction of this dictatorship. He thinks he found his answer, but it was hard to tell whether he was on to something or on the verge of total madness. He was only one man. Sure, he had friends, but he didn’t trust them, it was him alone. Alone against his old friend. He’s had so many friendships slip through his fingers. 

His fingers hurt. His arms hurt. His back, his chest, his head. He’s never felt this much pain in his life. Running from his only home was the beginning, scrambling through the thick woods, ducking under arrows that whizzed over his shoulders, shielding Tommy from their former friends.. Building his new home, though he hesitates to call it home, was next, digging out stone and building stairs and tunnels from scratch, burning himself on the furnaces and spending endless hours building up stairs and hanging lights.

But now?

Well, right now, he’s learning that fighting someone in hand-to-hand combat hurts quite a lot. Even if you have the jump on them. It’s hard when they struggle, apparently. 

Schlatt is thrashing in his arms, pushing at the elbow Wilbur has around his throat, trying to pull away the other arm trapping him in place. He can’t talk, but Wilbur knows if he could, he would be trying his goddamn hardest to smooth-talk his way out of his own death.

He was always good at that kind of thing. Wilbur used to really admire it. To say that he appreciated it less when he used it to royally screw Wilbur over would be an understatement.

“Not everything can be fixed by little political debates, Schlatt.” Wilbur hisses into his ear, spitting out his name like it was leaving a bad taste in his mouth. “It’s almost a shame your death will be a near mystery.” He can feel the fight begin to leave Schlatt and he starts bringing them down to the ground, never letting up on his chokehold. “The Wilbur they know would never do this, yeah?” He laughs, a morbid thing. “You knew better, I think. That’s why you ran me off. Paid off all my friends to hunt me down like some kind of wild animal. Paid off my own son.”

Schlatt drives an elbow into his stomach as a last-ditch effort. Wilbur slightly lets go out of shock. “Fuck you,” Schlatt gasps before getting grabbed once again, tighter than before.

“Pleasure knowing you, Schlatt.” Wilbur mutters as Schlatt finally goes limp in his arms and he drops him the rest of the way to the ground. He’s gone from Manberg territory quick, hustling through the woods back to Pogtopia. He waits for hours, staring at the door, practically unblinking, holding his sword in front of him as he waits for his consequences to haunt him. Nobody comes.

The next morning, when Tubbo arrives to tell them all the news, neither of them seem particularly distressed.

**Author's Note:**

> this is a little different from what i usually write i feel which i enjoyed a lot
> 
> as always, song requests are encouraged (and kudos and comments :O)
> 
> thank you!


End file.
